


it's rotten work

by clumsyclouds



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jock Finn, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Poe Dameron, Theater Geek Poe Dameron, finn is a calrissian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsyclouds/pseuds/clumsyclouds
Summary: poe is a theatre kid, finn is a jock, they form an unlikely bond(based on eggsy's (@dumbasspoe on twitter) high school AU that i can't get enough of)
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98





	it's rotten work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lmeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeow/gifts).



> this was just gonna be a short drabble but then it,,,, wasn’t??? i hope i do the AU justice!! 
> 
> anyway, just a little small thing i put together, enjoy :)

“What if I’m not good enough, to make my dad proud?” Finn says, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the stage. 

He looks so small, sitting there, like the world hangs over his shoulders, weighing, tugging him down and Poe knows that he has to do _something,_ there’s a twinge of pain behind his ribcage whenever Finn is sad. 

“Your dad loves you,” he says on an exhale. “But even if you change your mind, and football isn’t your thing, then try something new.”

Finn scoffs, props one leg up with his foot against the edge of the scene and tucks his knee below his chin. “Like what? I’ve never done anything else.”

Sure, okay, he hadn’t gotten that far yet, but with a few looks around the room he is _bound_ to find something, for sure. Poe twists, searching the surrounding area and— 

—bingo. 

He picks up his creased and battered script. There’s a yellowed coffee stain and scribbled notes all over the pages. Some highlighted lines and, well, that would have to do. Poe slaps the booklet against his palm and joins Finn, cross-legged, on the ground beside him. 

“Theatre.”

That makes his head turn, eyebrows raised high in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Come on! It isn’t dangerous,” he teases and hands the script to Finn. “Pick a page, put your finger somewhere on it and we’ll recite those lines. No peeking.”

“I’m really not—”

“Ah-ah!” Poe points to the papers. “Pick and point, buddy.”

There’s a beat of silence and a vaguely annoyed expression on Finn’s unmistakably adorable face, but he finally, _finally,_ gives in. With a deep and melodramatic sigh he opens a page, closes his eyes and haphazardly draws his finger over the words. They’re slow, as if trying to feel the ink on the pages, feeling his way around it, getting to know the terrain or something. Then, it comes to a halt at the top of the page. 

“Well? What does it say?” he asks. Some of the lines are highlighted in yellow. 

“It’s between, uhm” —Finn squints at the words— “Orestes and Pylades.”

He smiles, scoots closer to Finn and lets his legs fall down over the edge, mirroring the other. It isn’t a complete lie to say that he did it to see the lines, but it isn’t the truth either. Their thighs barely graze against each other, but if Finn notices, he doesn’t care. Hopefully, that’s a good sign. 

“We’re rehearsing this now actually,” he muses. “We don’t usually do greek tragedies, though. This is an exception.”

He hums in response, skims through the lines. 

“Why don’t you be Orestes and I’ll be Pylades?”

“I don’t know, Poe.” His gaze is hesitant and he holds the script as if it plans to bite him the second he lets his guard down, and yet there is a curiosity there. A tiny, unborn spark in his eyes that Poe grows fond of in an instant, no different from every other characteristic of Finn’s. 

“Humor me.”

Finally, Finn is convinced. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Poe and draws his attention back to the paper. 

“Surely silence is better.” It’s awkward and jagged, but he’s trying and that alone is enough to make Poe smile.

“And you’ll save time,” Poe replies, barely looking at the script. 

It’s nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from the way Finn bites his lip, reading the line, studying it, probably worrying about getting it wrong. Something warm, something kind takes root in Poe’s chest, blooming outwards into each dark corner of his body. 

“One last worry.”

“What?”

“The ghastly goddesses.” He hums in concentration, hesitates for a second. “They’ll send my wits astray.”

Yes, indeed, Poe thinks. His wits have long since been sent astray by the peculiar football jock that, for whatever reason, seemed to like Poe, even genuinely enjoy his company. Stars, he was a goner the moment Finn accidentally heard him reciting his lines that late thursday afternoon.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, presses his hand against Finn’s knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It doesn’t linger any longer than it should, but perhaps he wishes it could. 

A warm and kind thing rises in his throat, but it’s dangerous, too. It makes him heady and too bold for his own good and there’s no stopping it. A runaway train, and Poe has no idea of his own destination.

“It’s rotten work.”

He shakes his head. “Not to me.”

Finn looks up with the tiniest crease between his eyebrows, purses his lips into a thin line. 

Poe finishes, “Not if it’s you.” 

Oh, and he’s too soft, too sincere when he says it. It burns and aches, like skin that’s been rubbed red and raw. The facade is peeled back and that dangerous thing comes closer and closer. He’s prisoner to his own actions, unable to stop himself when he leans in, lets his hand find its place on Finn’s soft cheek as if it were always meant to be there. Like gravity, he falls closer and closer until the gap disappears. His lips taste like peppermint and something distinctly new and exhilarating. They’re not as soft as he’d imagined them, but oh, so lovely all the same. 

Poe grasps at the collar of Finn’s varsity jacket, tugs him closer by it or perhaps it’s just something to ground him, keep him from floating away into some unknown realm where all he knows is the feeling of their lips joined together into one. 

Just when he thinks the moment couldn’t possibly end is precisely when it does. Finn pulls away, hand covering Poe’s. It’s gentle, but drawing a clear boundary. It pains him to let go, but what else could he do? Whatever illusion he’s created for himself shatters in an instant and he knows that the magic moment is over. He needs to flee, like the coward he should never pretend that he isn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Shame burns behind his eyelids in the shape of unfallen tears.

He stands up and quickly gathers all his things: His bag, jacket and phone, but leaves the script with Finn. 

“Poe, wait...”

With a jump and no response, he’s off the stage and within a minute he’s out of the auditorium, running down the empty, winding hallways. Some foolish, naive part of him hoped that Finn would come running after him, as if he’s the main character of a romance, but reality is harsh and buckles for no one. 

That night, his phone is eerily quiet. Usually, by this time they’ll be texting frantically, both too tired to stay awake, yet too content in each other’s company to say goodnight. Poe can’t sleep, considers calling or texting, but what can he say that isn’t already obvious or risks making it worse?

I’m sorry.

Do you hate me? 

I take it back.

It’s no good. Everything he comes up with is tactless at best and dishonest at worst. Naturally, it’s best not to say anything at all and hope with everything he has that it’ll be sorted the next day, but somehow, Poe doubts it.

Reality catches up, as it tends to do. He yawns, feels his eyelids droop and welcomes unconsciousness with open arms. 

.-::-.

It’s a funny thing, waking up. You’re engulfed deep in your dream, so much so that it becomes reality. You don’t know why, and you don’t really want to, but you’re the pilot of a spacecraft, soaring through the dark unknown shouting things about a war you know nothing of. 

Then, something breaks through the barrier. Sometimes it’s an alarm, now it’s a strange tapping noise, slowly increasing in volume. The spaceship fades into darkness, the vibration of the engines melts away and you feel the sheets brushing against your cheek. 

For a second you’re in that middle space between consciousness and sleep. Nothing is actually real yet, time is nothing but an illusion, but that _damn tapping noise will not stop._

With a frustrated groan, Poe opens his eyes. It’s still dark outside, but the faintest strip of yellow light can be barely hinted at just above the horizon. The tapping comes from his window, the blinds are drawn, and even though it’s the last thing he wants to do Poe throws his blanket off and stands up, pulling the blinds up with a sharp zipping noise. A pebble comes flying straight for his face and hits the glass, rolling off the window sill and back down to the ground. 

He looks down and, much to his utter surprise, sees Finn. It takes every ounce of self control not to simply crawl back into his bed and pretend this isn’t happening. It takes even more self control to open the window. 

With pink, fluffy slippers, a green Zelda t-shirt, grey sweatpants and his orange and white varsity jacket he looks like about five stereotypes bunched up into one. His left arms hangs limply by his side while the other is stuffed into his pocket. Poe would laugh if it didn't feel inappropriate.

“Can we talk?” he asks, still holding a handful of pebbles. 

“Are you gonna throw more rocks at my window?” he replies, still unsure of how to act.

Finn drops the pebbles, stretches his hands out and shrugs his shoulders. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips. If he’s smiling then, perhaps, it’s not so bad? 

_Stars,_ Poe is weak. 

He closes the window without a response, puts on a cardigan and tries to fix his insufferable bed head in the mirror. He can barely see in the dark so it doesn’t really help, but it’s the thought that counts or something. He gives up, sighs and leaves his room. With feather-light steps he tip-toes down the stairs, avoids the steps that creak and sneaks past his parent’s bedroom. Their door is open, but whatever noise he might’ve made is covered up by his dad’s snoring. It’s a miracle that they both still sleep in the same room, Poe can barely sleep in _his_ room some nights. 

He hesitates as his hand reaches the door knob. Perhaps it’s not too late to go back into bed and pretend none of this happened, but, then again, Finn came all this way in his slippers, in the middle of the night, just to talk. If he is awake at this hour then perhaps that means that...he’s thinking of Poe as much as Poe is thinking of Finn?

It doesn’t matter, he decides, what matters is that if they don’t talk about it now then they probably never will. Even if Finn only comes to tell Poe never to pull a stunt like that again they’ll be friends. At least they’ll have that. Right?

With that thought in mind, he opens the door and steps out onto the gravel. The door closes carefully behind him and Poe approaches. Finn is pacing aimlessly up and down the driveway. 

“Well? What did you want to talk about?” he asks, keeps his head down, but looks up through his dishevelled curls. 

Without warning, without so much as a sign, Finn charges towards him, grabs him by his cardigan and then they’re kissing, lips clumsily smushed against each other. There’s no time to think it through, no time to even react properly. It’s so different to their first, all impatience and nerves and the sudden realization that Poe hasn’t brushed his teeth since dinner. 

He kisses back, because he has no choice, because it’s everything he’s been dreaming of since they started talking. Finn pulls him closer, wraps his arms around Poe’s waist as if he might disappear and it’s almost too good to be true.

“I really like you,” Finn murmurs once he pulls away, rests his forehead against Poe’s. “Like, _really._ ”

Poe draws a ragged breath and almost laughs. He’s lightheaded, like the world is spinning madly around him. There’s nothing but Finn’s forehead grounding him back to real life. “Yeah, uh...yeah. Me, too.”

“And I’m sorry about earlier. I hope you’re not offended, it’s just that my crush randomly kissed me and I—”

“Wait. Crush?”

Finn looks up, brows furrowed together and he nods. 

“And you came all the way, at the ass-crack of dawn, in pink, fluffy slippers and a nerdy t-shirt just to tell me that?”

He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the ground. “Rey said it would be romantic, so...”

They don’t say anything after that, but they don’t really need to either. With careful smiles exchanged it seems that all is well between the two again. In hindsight, it was probably a bit melodramatic to run off like that in the first place, but it doesn't seem so horrible anymore. Not when Finn stands in front of him, eyes boring into his with such sincerity that they’re practically glittering. One couldn’t help but to admire it, in awe of the beauty. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Poe asks, nodding towards the door.

He glances between Poe and the door, a smile grows, heartwarming and kind. Finn’s hands finally let go of the cardigan, but soon thereafter grasp Poe’s hands instead. The touch sends a spark of electricity up his spine.

“I would love to.”


End file.
